The Vampire's Angel (25 page)

This beautiful tale made perfect sense in its simplicity. Xavier did not need a long explanation full of hidden messages. He merely wanted to help people and drew strength from that. Melisent’s safety with her child, surrounded by non-judgmental people, comforted him.

Thomas walked over and kissed Xavier on the head. He loved him more now than ever. Unfortunately, his heart ripped him from this moment and reminded him that they were a perfect couple with an ideal balance between Thomas’s cynicism and Xavier’s compassion.

Then he moved away, afraid that he would grab Xavier and forcibly kiss him. He had to talk about it. He motioned for them to retire inside, away from others. Reluctantly, but as always, Xavier obeyed.

13 July 1789

AS HE PRODDED Xavier into the church’s seclusion and up to his room, distraught with love after hearing Melisent’s story, Thomas fretted. He hated going against his patience and knew that Xavier would not be able to accept the truth about him. But his heart ruled his actions.

“Xavier, this story about Melisent, that’s what attracts me to you.”

Thomas paced across the room, his black clothes blending into the shadows in such a way that his white skin seemed to glow. He controlled himself by staying away from Xavier, and thinking about all the time they’d spent together. Xavier curled up on the bed in a ball, his knees tucked under his chin, his foot bobbing up and down with nervousness as he stared at the floor and refused to look at Thomas.

“Your faith in humanity makes me love you,” Thomas said softly.

“I know that it makes a wonderful friendship,” Xavier offered.

“No,” Thomas said sternly enough that Xavier’s eyes shot to him. “That’s not what I mean. I can’t remain thus anymore. We have to end this, for better or worse, because I can’t pretend that our love doesn’t exist. We’ve discussed it, yes, but always in veiled terms. Let me be blunt. I love you, Xavier. Not platonically, not as friends, but as a lover. I’m entirely devoted to you. I yearn for you. I want to kiss your lips and feel your heart pound close to mine.”

Xavier said nothing in response for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “What do you expect me to say?”

Thomas moved across the room, daring to sit on the end of the bed.

“The truth, Xavier. The truth that you give everyone else but me.”

Without hesitating, but with tears streaming down his face, Xavier let out a flood of emotion and said all of the things that Thomas wanted to hear. “I love you, too, in all the same ways, I love you. I dream of lying in your arms. I want you to take me and have your will with me in every possible way. That’s what I’ve wanted since the day we met. But you knew this without forcing me to say it. In those moments when I’m alone in this room and can entirely shut the world out, I close my eyes and dream of falling asleep in your arms.

“But it can’t happen, and that’s why I refused to discuss it. It’s wrong. I’ve no other way to explain it to you. What would others say? What would I tell Michel and Catherine? The church—my God, we preach against lust constantly.” He wept then, shaking, his head buried in his hands.

Thomas grabbed him, and Xavier allowed the embrace. This love that Xavier condemned on behalf of his church felt more genuine and pure than anything Thomas had ever experienced. Yet he, too, was frightened—more now than ever before. Not of religion or of Xavier’s refusal to leave the church. Something even more frightening stalked him. If mere physical contact threw Xavier into this much turmoil, how would he ever deal with vampirism? He was so wedded to the church and blinded by duty that he could not do something as simple as kiss Thomas. What if Xavier saw him as a monster? Suddenly, though he had pushed Xavier to talk, Thomas no longer wanted to dwell on the situation between them.

As they sat motionless, neither making the next move, Thomas smelled Xavier’s hair and he noticed the surprisingly fit body beneath the robe. The thought again came to simply steal away with him and offer no choice. But that was impossible. What was left but hopelessness?

Wonderful, eternal life—the power, the strength, the charm of it. Thomas saw nothing wrong with vampirism, except that so many feared it. Except that Xavier might never accept it. He closed his eyes, forcing the thought from his head.

Xavier gradually stopped crying and ceased clutching Thomas. He stayed close but relaxed, adjusting his head on Thomas’s chest, so he might look at him. Xavier’s eyes betrayed uneasiness.

Thomas ran his fingers through Xavier’s hair and smiled. “I’ll never force you,” Thomas said.

“I know. Can you accept why I can’t do anything?”

“I love you,” Thomas said. “All of you, no matter how much it betrays what I want. But, if I do that for you, can you do one thing for me?”

“What?”

“Give it time. Think about it, think about your life, think about what’s happening in Paris, and think about us. Nothing will change our friendship and my devotion to you. But do me the favor of thinking about this and allowing yourself to truly reflect on our circumstances before you cast it away.”

“I will,” Xavier said simply.

“You’ll do that for me?” Thomas asked.

“You know there’s little I won’t do for you, short of—” Xavier halted as the tears persisted.

“I know, but tell me one more time, please.”

“I’ll think about it for you. I promise.”

This was more than Thomas had hoped. He expected an instant dismissal and another explanation about how the church condemned their love. And his own hypocrisy tormented him. He had implored Xavier to open up to their love when he was not willing to do so in return. “Perhaps I should leave. You need to rest.”

“If you don’t mind,” Xavier said and wiped away the teardrops as he collected himself with a weak smile.

Then, in a state of despair mixed with excitement, they parted with a platonic hug, though passion still welled in Thomas and didn’t subside when he left

In the hot night air of Paris, Thomas was ready for action. His pent-up aggression needed a release. True, their talk had empowered him, but an underlying anger at how the church so negatively affected Xavier nagged him. He believed that Xavier wanted to help the less fortunate, but there was no reason, outside of the moral suasion of the Catholic hierarchy, that this precluded their love.

The damnable Catholic Church. Always admonishing people and condemning, always judging as if the church leaders were God. He hated the institution, no matter how wedded Xavier was to it. He despised the church. He went over the multitude of reasons, all of them coming back to power and controlling people—so little of organized religion had to do with praise for God or assisting one another. Hypocrites, they were all hypocrites who preyed on the minds of those within and without their ranks.

It was time to hunt and Thomas knew the perfect game.

He moved swiftly through Paris until he saw it.

What a beautiful church, this Notre Dame Cathedral, full of opulent décor, built of the finest stone, with sculptures of saints, intricate stained glass, the Virgin Mary all around, and Christ, the sacrificing, crucified martyr, stared at Thomas. So different from Xavier’s simple sanctuary. The wood was positively glorious in this seat of Catholic power. Only the lustful, egotistical priests worked here, only they wanted this gothic setting where the rich gathered to pretend that they led holy lives.

Thomas slipped into a back pew, waiting. He watched for his victim, carefully assessing the priests that passed. He dismissed the first as too young. His haughty attitude would some day fit in quite well here, but Thomas doubted that he had done anything dastardly yet. He was amused that the priest looked at the vampire with suspicion, probably because of the riots and attacks on clergy. Pass on, my friend, I will not harm you, he thought.

A few minutes later, obviously sent by the first priest, a middle-aged official walked up to Thomas. He had the air of superiority that Thomas sought.

“Sir, can I help you? You can’t be here.”

“My apologies, Father. I thought the church was open to all of God’s children when in need,” Thomas said, amusing himself.

“I’m afraid that no one can help you at this hour.”

“May I at least provide a humble offering to the church?” Thomas asked as he pulled out a bundle of gold coins from his coat pocket.

The greedy fool’s demeanor changed at once. “Perhaps we could make an exception about the hour in this case.”

“That’s most kind, but you’ll have to accept double the amount in that case.”

“Oh, you’re too generous, kind sir. What might I do for you?”

“May we speak in private?” Thomas asked, trying to appear as if something troubled him.

“Yes, this way.”

“Somewhere private, please. I don’t wish all ears to hear my troubles.”

“Of course.” The priest nodded and gestured toward a side alcove.

Once alone, Thomas wasted no time. Luring his prey had been fun, but deception tired him. With his back to the priest, he descended his fangs and adopted a horrific face that he seldom used. When he finally turned around, Thomas received the reaction he had hoped for. Horror mixed with pure dread. The priest backed against the wall, his eyes wide, and clutched the crucifix around his neck. He mumbled some garbled Latin and Thomas smiled. In seconds he had latched onto the priest’s neck and sucked the life from him.

As always, a million images passed through Thomas’s mind like the priest’s blood passing into his mouth. A boy, innocent and trusting, bleeding and crying as the priest thrust in and out of him; an elderly woman, running from his village church in agony because her grandson could not be baptized because the priest was angry that the family had not tithed more; a curé, pleading at the feet of this man right here in this church because he was throwing him out of the clergy for accidentally spilling consecrated wine; another gentleman’s life in ruins because the priest spread false rumors that he fornicated, simply because the priest did not like him. On and on the images went, of countless people’s lives and circumstances destroyed by this sanctimonious man. No, the world would not miss him. Besides, it was retribution, of sorts, for all the ill that this church did to Xavier. Thomas would kill every priest to protect Xavier from their lunacy.

Once drained, he dropped the priest into a chair and positioned him to look as if he died without cause. But taking this life had proven so satisfying that such a boring scene hardly seemed the best way to end it. Instead of leaving things this innocently, Thomas wanted mystery for those who found the body, so he added a religious touch. No doubt the irony would escape those who found the body, but perhaps it would give them a fright nonetheless. For Thomas, it was grimly humorous. He retrieved the gold coins from the priest that he had given as a donation and replaced them with thirty silver coins from his pocket. These he threw on the table. Then he whispered to the dead man: “Good night, Judas. Rest in peace.”

13 July 1789 Near Midnight

XAVIER TRIED TO forget what had happened by trying to sleep soon after Thomas left, but his head spun. What did Thomas want? What did Xavier want? What should he do? One minute he wanted to run to Thomas, the next it frightened him too much. Trying to sleep was useless.

Instead, Xavier dressed and headed for the Saint-Laurent home. It buzzed with activity at all hours since Catherine had converted it to a salon, and he needed a conversation to take his mind off Thomas. Xavier greeted a few people and smiled to himself when strangers looked at him with suspicion because of his clerical garb. Nothing enticed him, so Xavier strolled around until he ran into Jérémie, sitting alone doing paperwork in Catherine’s office.

“How are you?” Xavier greeted him.

“Fine,” Jérémie said as he put the pen down. “Aside from trying to keep up with the finances of this place. Catherine and I never expected such a positive response to the salon. We need more help but haven’t found even a few moments to do that.” He rubbed his forehead briefly. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“It’s hard to sleep these days,” Xavier answered vaguely.

Jérémie poured them some wine without asking, reminding Xavier of carefree youthful days, when Jérémie and he would sneak into the house and get drunk while they discussed everything imaginable. They had never asked each other if the other wanted to drink. They just poured. Xavier smiled, remembering their first encounter with drunken philosophy at the age of eight. They attended dinner that evening, barely able to stand up, and spent the meal constantly giggling. The adults, thinking them too pure and innocent, assumed childhood nonsense possessed them and suspected nothing else.

“Thank you,” Xavier said and took the glass.

They fell into easy conversation about nothing in particular, but soon after they started talking, a familiar laugh echoed down the hall. Jérémie squinted his eyes in puzzlement, but Xavier rushed to the hallway as Jérémie followed.

“Anne?” he said, both puzzled and worried. What would she be doing here, of all places?

His friend howled with delight.

“I came to see Catherine, at the request of a friend. It’s none of your business, but it’s good to see you.” She smiled broadly. “They say she’s retired or out.” She shrugged. “They won’t really tell me. Maybe you can help.” She pushed past Xavier into the room, got herself a glass without asking and poured it full of wine before drinking deeply. Then she turned around, still smiling, and pointed for Jérémie and Xavier to sit. “You, especially, can help me, young man,” she said to Jérémie. “Maybe we can do something about that broken heart of yours.”

Jérémie’s eyes widened, as if stunned by that statement.

“Oh, get those silly looks off your faces. I know you didn’t tell me about him, Xavier. And I know we’ve never met, Jérémie, but we don’t have time to get into all of that, so just listen.” Though a thousand questions raced through Xavier’s head, and no doubt Jérémie’s, they followed her command.